


it ain't right, but isn't it amazing

by suspendrs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Date, I need to be stopped, I think?, Kinda?, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, Sushi, This is a crack fic, Tinder, Vomiting, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:52:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendrs/pseuds/suspendrs
Summary: It’s all Niall’s fault, as most things are. Niall’s the one that made the bloody Tinder account in the first place, and the one that added every decent looking photo of Louis he could find on his phone, and the one that swiped right on the first fifteen guys that popped up. Yeah, Louis might have done the rest of the work that landed him here, in the men’s toilets of a Japanese restaurant in west London with vomit dripping down his chin and down the very, very attractive chest of the very, very attractive man in front of him, but Niall started it.Or, Harry takes Louis for sushi on the first date. It doesn't go well.





	it ain't right, but isn't it amazing

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i just. i don't know.
> 
> sometimes ideas as glorious and bizarre as this come to me and i am physically incapable of turning them away. and then shit like this happens.

It’s all Niall’s fault, as most things are. Niall’s the one that made the bloody Tinder account in the first place, and the one that added every decent looking photo of Louis he could find on his phone, and the one that swiped right on the first fifteen guys that popped up. Yeah, Louis might have done the rest of the work that landed him here, in the men’s toilets of a Japanese restaurant in west London with vomit dripping down his chin and down the very, very attractive chest of the very, _very_ attractive man in front of him, but Niall started it.

-

It’s Saturday night, which means Louis is drunk in some random club in Camden, and his friends are nowhere to be seen. Niall and Shawn are probably fucking in the toilets, or something, and Liam’s probably still chatting up the bartender he’s been trying to get with for months, so Louis’s just dancing by himself. He doesn’t really mind it, comfortable enough with himself that he can still have a great night dancing alone in the middle of a crowded room with about six mixed drinks muddling up his mind.

A couple guys stop to dance with him, and a couple of girls, too, but Louis’s not really into any of them. He’s too drunk to be into anything but staying upright, at this point, and before long he finds himself stumbling back to the booth in the corner where he’s pretty sure he last saw his friends.

It turns out Niall and Shawn aren’t fucking in the toilets, they’re tucked up in the booth together, laughing at something on Niall’s phone. They hardly glance up when Louis drops into the seat across from them, even when Louis steals the glass of water in front of Niall and takes a long sip. He decides to keep it, since nobody seems to mind, draining it into his mouth and then slumping back against the booth.

Niall and Shawn keep ignoring him and laughing at Niall’s phone, and for all Louis pouts at them, it’s like they don’t even notice he’s there. Eventually he gets tired of it and kicks out at Niall under the table, but he must hit Shawn instead, because Shawn whimpers and Niall glares at him.

“Stop ignoring me,” Louis whines, reaching across the table to grab Niall’s wrist. He doesn’t know what to do with it once he’s got it, so he just shakes it a little and pouts again. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” Shawn says, at the same time Niall says, “you wouldn’t get it.”

Louis rolls his eyes and drops Niall’s wrist, leaning back in his seat again. “You guys are insufferable since you started dating,” he says.

“No, we’re cute,” Niall argues, snaking his arms around Shawn’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Shawn just grins and melts into Niall’s chest, looking like the picture of joy.

“Insufferable,” Louis says, emphasising each syllable. 

“Maybe you just need to find someone,” Shawn suggests, like that’s an okay thing to suggest. Louis doesn’t really know them that well, has only known him for the four weeks he’s been dating Niall, but Louis decides that if they’re close enough for Shawn to say something so brazen, they’re close enough for Louis to steal his water, as well.

“I don’t need anyone,” he says, bypassing the straw and drinking straight from the glass. The straw nearly takes his eye out, but he plays it off quite well. “I’m a strong, independent guy, and I don’t need a man.”

“You’re a whiny, needy little bottom bitch and you need someone’s attention,” Niall says. He’s not gentle about it, not in the slightest, and Louis chokes.

“I am not a bottom bitch,” he hisses, glaring at Niall. “Not that that’s relevant, anyway.”

“Yes you are, and yes it is,” Niall says. “Please do us all a favor and get laid.”

“God, Niall, tell me how you really feel,” Louis says, sticking his tongue out at him.

“Okay,” Niall shrugs. “I think you’re lonely and filling the void in your heart with alcohol and I think you’re never going to find anyone on your own because you’re too stubborn and picky and will never admit that you’re scared to fall in love with anyone,” he says.

Louis blinks, watching blankly as Shawn elbows Niall in the ribs. “Fuck?”

“He doesn’t mean that,” Shawn says, reaching over to pat Louis’s arm consolingly. “Do you, Niall?”

“No, I do,” Niall says. “You had like, what, four different guys hanging off you just now? Why didn’t you get any of their numbers?”

“How do you know I didn't?” Louis argues, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“Did you?” Niall asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Louis huffs, looking down at his lap. “No.”

“Fuck’s sake, Louis,” Niall says. “Just let me set you up on a date.”

“Yeah!” Shawn butts in. “I have so many friends that would be perfect for you, I can have Niall send you their numbers-”

“I’m going home,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “This is an ambush.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Niall says, grabbing him by his sleeve and pulling him back down into the booth. “This _is_ an ambush, and you’re not going anywhere until you let us help you.”

“I don’t need help!” Louis says, prying Niall’s hand off his shirt. “Jesus, you act like I’ll die if I don’t get a boyfriend in the next thirty minutes.”

“Fine, then, keep being lonely,” Niall shrugs. “No skin off my back. We’re offering to help you find someone so you don’t have to keep spending your Saturdays alone, or bugging us, telling us we’re gross when the real problem is that you’re just lonely and salty about it,” he says.

Louis flips him off, slouching in his seat again and finishing Shawn’s water in a few long sips. It’s quiet for a while, until finally Louis sighs and shrugs one shoulder.

“I mean, I guess I could, like, make a Tinder, or something.”

“Oh, please let us help!” Shawn perks up, clapping his hands like a child. God, and Niall thinks _Louis_ is a bottom bitch. “It’ll be so fun!”

“Absolutely not,” Louis says. “I’m not letting you two anywhere near my love life.”

“What love life?” Niall scoffs. He’s fucking brutal tonight, Louis thinks. Talk about being sexually frustrated.

“Fuck right off, Niall,” Louis says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket just to hold it protectively in his hand, like it’s safer there than in his pocket. “I do not need your help with something as simple as-”

Niall snatches the phone out of his hand and leans against the wall on the inside of the booth, feet up on the seat. Shawn giggles and tucks himself between Niall’s legs, resting against his chest and watching Niall unlock Louis’s phone.

“Excuse me,” Louis splutters, trying to snatch his phone back. Niall holds it just out of his reach, looking unconcerned with Louis’s shrieking for him to give it back.

“I’m just getting you started,” Niall says, typing away on Louis’s phone. “You can change it later if you wanna be stupid, but just let me work.”

“How did you know my passcode?” Louis asks, bewildered. “And my app store password? Niall!”

“Your passcode is your birthday,” Niall says uninterestedly. “Your app store password is spiderman. You really need to be more creative, mate.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Shawn says. Louis absolutely did not ask him.

“Niall, please,” Louis sighs, reaching for his phone again. “Shawn, what is he writing?”

“Louis, 26,” Shawn reads obediently, watching Niall type. “Part time cashier at Tesco”

“Cheers, Niall,” Louis mutters, slumping on the table and resting his chin in his hand.

“Carefree, passionate, and gay as hell. I love dogs and beer and football. Looking for someone that will be a lad and keep up with me on a night out but will also sing entire musical soundtracks with me in the car,” Shawn continues, giggling into Niall’s chest.

“I hate that what you’re writing isn’t terrible,” Louis says. “Please let me pick the photos.”

“Nope,” Niall says, smirking mischievously as he starts scrolling through Louis’s camera roll. “You better not have any nudes saved in here.”

“Who would I take nudes for?” Louis says. 

“Yourself,” Shawn says, looking up at him. Louis blinks, and Shawn blushes. “I mean, not that I do that.” Louis blinks at him again, and Shawn sticks his tongue out. “Hey, I’m the one that has a boyfriend.”

“Niall’s making you mean,” Louis says, going back to watching Niall’s face as he scrolls through Louis’s photos. “I took a really nice shirtless photo a few weeks ago to show off my chest tattoo. Add that one.”

“Already added,” Niall hums distractedly.

“Maybe you’re better at this than I thought,” Louis says, leaning back in the booth. “At least let me see it before you make it public?”

“I was going to, originally, but then you told me you didn’t have any nudes saved on your phone and I just found an entire photoshoot, so now I think I’ll keep letting you sweat,” Niall says, pulling a face at Louis’s phone.

“Oh, let me see,” Shawn says, craning his neck to look at the phone. Niall angles it toward him and Shawn hums, nodding approvingly. “Nice. You know your angles.”

“This is mortifying,” Louis groans, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Please hurry up and finish it so I can go home and go to bed and hopefully forget that any of this happened.”

“Nearly done,” Niall says, still tapping away on Louis’s phone. Louis stares at him, unamused, until finally Niall hands the phone back. “Okay, I swiped right on fifteen guys who look like your type. You can keep swiping at your leisure, but that should be a good start.”

“Jesus, Niall,” Louis sighs, tapping around on the app, trying to find the list of guys Niall swiped for him. He’s not terribly good at technology, and it’s probably going to take him ages to figure out how to use this app, if he decides he wants to continue using it after tonight, anyway. He shoves the phone back in his pocket before Niall decides he wants to ruin his life some other way, giving him the dirtiest look he can manage before grabbing his jacket and slipping out of the booth. 

“I’m going home,” he says, pulling his jacket on. “You guys are bullies, and I’m tired. I’ll text you tomorrow if some random Tinder guy doesn’t find my address and murder me,” he turning to leave with a flourish and pushing through the mess of people until he finds his way out of the club.

He gets an Uber back to his flat and spends the whole drive looking at Tinder, wondering how long it might take for someone to send him a message. Maybe this won’t be such a horrible idea after all, he thinks, looking over the profile Niall made for him, scrolling through his own photos. It certainly can’t hurt, he thinks, even if it doesn’t help him find the love of his life. Maybe it’ll just be a source of some good fun, and he can delete the app in a few weeks and get on with his sad, lonely life.

That’s the part that bothers him the most, he thinks, is how easily Niall pegged him on being lonely. He thought he was doing quite a good job hiding it, actually, and he’s a little embarrassed that apparently was being so obvious. He’s never really had a serious relationship, never dated anyone for more than a couple weeks, but he wants it more than he wants to breathe. He wants so desperately to love someone, to be loved, to be cuddled up in the corner of a club with someone like they’re in their own little world, like Niall and Shawn. He never thought there would come a day that he was actually, genuinely envious of Niall, but here he is, sitting in the backseat of an uber refreshing his new dating app and waiting for someone to match with him.

He gets right into bed when he gets home, doesn’t bother brushing his teeth or washing his face once he’s stripped out of his jeans and t-shirt. He leaves his phone on the kitchen table so he won’t be tempted to check it all night long, and then passes out on top of all his covers.

-

He mostly forgets about Tinder until a few days later. Nothing happened with it, no messages, no notifications, nothing, so it sits on the second page of Louis’s homescreen dormant and forgotten until Wednesday, when he gets home from his shift at Tesco, and his phone makes a noise he’s never heard it make before.

He checks it on the way to the bathroom to take a shower, but he stops dead in his tracks when the notification registers in his mind. Someone matched with him on Tinder, which means one of the fifteen guys Niall swiped the other night finally got around to checking the app, and decided he liked Louis enough to swipe right, as well.

It makes him more excited than he thinks he should be. He has no idea what the protocol for this is, what he’s supposed to do, or if he’s supposed to do anything at all. He never actually bothered to learn how to use the app, so he’s not entirely sure what this even means, but he figures he can leave it until after he has a shower and then text Niall to come over and help him. 

He leaves the phone on his bed and hurries to the bathroom, rushing through his shower in record time. Once the stale supermarket smell is off his skin he heads back to the bedroom, which is really just a corner of his studio apartment. It’s the only thing he can afford right now, working part time at Tesco while also putting himself through university, and it’s small and dark and pretty rank, but it works.

There’s another notification from Tinder, a message this time. Louis very narrowly manages not to squeal, flopping down on his bed still wrapped in his towel. He spends a minute just staring at the notification, wondering how long he should wait before he opens it. He doesn’t want to seem desperate, and he isn’t desperate, not really, but he’s really, stupidly excited to open this message for some reason.

Maybe he should call Niall and ask what to do. After all, Niall started this, and it should be his responsibility to see it through, shouldn’t it? But then he and Shawn would come over and coach him through it like the gross, terrible couple they are, and Louis thinks he might be better off handling this by himself for his own sanity.

He dicks around for about fifteen minutes before he can’t stand it anymore, grabbing his phone and tapping the notification. _Harry sent you a message_.

It takes a moment to load, and then the message pops up. Louis ignores it in favor of clicking on the guy’s profile picture, swiping through all of his photos slowly.

He’s cute, a little bit dorky, curly hair and dimples and some very interesting outfits. Niall said he only swiped right on guys who seemed like Louis’s type, and Louis’s not sure what about this guy made Niall think he fit that description, until he gets to the last picture. It’s a full body photo on a beach, and the guy is wearing nothing but some tiny, bright yellow swim shorts and a pair of sunglasses, and Louis is hooked. He’s got legs that go on for miles and his skin is littered with tattoos, but Louis can’t zoom in far enough to make out most of them. The guy has a second pair of sunglasses on his head to keep his hair out of his face, which is peculiar, but Louis thinks he can deal with whatever kind of wacky personality this guy might have if he can get his hands on those soft little hips sticking out of his swim shorts.

He clicks back to the message thread and rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows.

_Harry: Hiii! My name’s Harry, and I almost never send the first message but I think you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. What’s up?_

Louis grins, reading the message over a few times. He doesn’t know how to reply, thinks maybe he should call Niall after all, but while he’s busy panicking about it another message pops up.

_Harry: Sorry, was that message really boring? Should I have opened with a pun? Goddamnit, Harry, always open with a pun._

Louis laughs, actually laughs out loud, and chews on his lip while he taps out a response.

_Louis: don’t worry, i’ll give you a chance to start over_

_Harry: Oh no, now I’m on the spot._

_Harry: Why did the baboon ask the giraffe ‘why the long face?’_

_Louis: why_

_Harry: He thought his neck was his face!_

_Louis: that’s not a pun , it’s just a terrible joke_

_Harry: You put me on the spot! I panicked! Maybe I could take you out to dinner this weekend and tell you some better jokes?_

Harry’s good at this, Louis thinks, and he’s caught off guard. He doesn’t even know this person, not at all, but after nine messages back and forth, he’s actually considering going out with him. It’s not like he has anything to lose, he supposes.

_Louis: better start working on your repertoire, i’m a tough crowd_

_Harry: It is now my life’s mission to make you laugh. Is that a yes, then?_

_Louis: tell me about yourself first ! how do i know you’re not gonna murder me or something?_

_Harry: Damn, my plan is foiled. You’re onto me._

_Harry: Kidding! I’m not a murderer! I swear!_

Louis giggles and rolls over, tossing his towel to the floor and tucking himself under his covers, instead. They spend the rest of the evening messaging back and forth, and it feels like Louis’s known Harry his entire life. The banter is so easy and fun and Louis completely loses track of time until it’s 2am and he’s falling asleep, phone still glued to his hand.

-

By the time the weekend comes, Louis is so desperate to meet Harry in person he doesn’t care where they go, or what they do. He really feels like Harry might be someone really special, if not the love of Louis’s life then at least a really amazing friend, and he can’t wait to finally hang out with him. 

He has no idea what they’re doing, but Harry says he wants to take Louis to some trendy place in West London. It’s not really Louis’s scene, but he’s excited anyway. Hopefully their next date will be a little more low key, if Louis’s lucky enough to get a second date at all.

Friday night finds him in a crisp black button down, black skinny jeans, and a pair of old school black vans with white laces. Niall has been trying to wrestle him into one of Shawn’s patterned blazers all evening but Louis locked himself in his bathroom twenty minutes ago to get away from both of them, and he’s pretty pleased with the way he looks once he’s dressed.

He grabs a dark wash denim jacket out of his wardrobe when he finally lets himself out of the bathroom, finding Niall and Shawn lying on his sofa. He puts on a little runway for them, hooks his jacket over his shoulder and struts in front of the sofa, narrowing his eyes at them.

“I’d ask you what you think, but I don’t really care. I think I look cool,” he says.

“I think you look cool, too,” Shawn says brightly.

“Eh,” Niall says.

“Thanks, Shawn,” Louis says pointedly, glaring at Niall. “Right, I’m off. Please don’t have sex on my sofa, or anywhere else in my flat, and please don’t be here when I come back,” he says, slipping his jacket on.

“I’d never have sex on your sofa, I’d probably get an infection,” Niall says. “Seriously, don’t bring him back here, if that’s what you’re implying. This place is rank.”

“It is not,” Louis huffs. “Fuck off, Niall.”

“Have fun!” Shawn calls, as Louis stuffs his wallet and phone into his pocket and heads for the door. “Call us if it gets awkward, or he’s not who he says he is! Be safe!”

“Don’t fuck this up!” Niall calls, just as Louis closes the door behind himself. 

It’s quiet in the hallway, and Louis takes a minute to reflect. He’s heading to West London to meet some guy he’s never met before, who he’s only seen pictures of and been talking to for about six days. There’s a lot of room for error here, a lot of ways that this could go horribly wrong, but he’s got a good feeling, nonetheless.

The tube is packed with people when he gets on, but he left just enough time to get to the address Harry texted him earlier that he’s not worried about being late. He’s nervous, a bit, but he thinks he has every right to be.

He hasn’t been on a date in so, so long. He’s hooked up with a couple people, spent a few Saturday nights making aimless small talk with random guys in random bars, but he hasn’t been on a proper date in forever. He’s almost forgotten what butterflies feel like, the nervous twist in his stomach and chest as he steps off the tube and finds his way out of the station.

Apple maps leads him half a block and then around the corner, and he finds himself outside of the restaurant where Harry told him to meet him. It’s two minutes past the hour, which means he’s almost scarily on time, so he lingers outside for a bit before he pushes into the restaurant, wringing his hands nervously.

It’s not very loud, but there’s a lot of people milling about, and Louis spends a good thirty seconds up on his toes trying to see over everyone’s heads before someone touches his shoulder and turns him around.

“Hi,” the person says, voice deep and sweet like honey. “You’re real!”

“So are you,” Louis smiles, all the tension easing from his muscles when he meets Harry’s eyes. “Hi, good to meet you.”

Harry laughs and hugs him, pulling Louis into his broad, warm chest. Louis goes easily, trying not to be too obvious about the way he presses his nose into the shoulder of Harry’s sheer blouse and memorizes his scent.

“Shall we sit, then?” Harry says when he pulls away, gesturing to the table he’s claimed near the window. “I hope you like sushi.”

Louis freezes a little, glancing around when Harry turns away to lead him to the table. He’d been too busy being nervous and excited and lost in his own head to check out the restaurant before now, and now that he’s actually looking, he realizes they’re in a Japanese restaurant. It’s sleek and stylish and looks lovely, but Louis has never been able to stomach sushi, and instantly he feels cold, heavy dread creeping up his spine.

“Yeah,” he says anyway, sitting gingerly in the chair Harry pulls out for him. “Yeah, great.”

“It took you awhile to come in,” Harry says, sitting down across from him. “I could see you out the window, and you were just standing there for, like, five minutes. I was worried you were just going to leave,” he jokes.

“Oh, god, you could see me?” Louis chuckles nervously, blushing despite his best attempts not to. “That’s embarrassing. I wasn’t thinking about leaving, I promise, I just didn’t want to be too early,” he says.

“You weren’t early, anyway,” Harry says, frowning. “You were right on time?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, grabbing the glass of water on the table and taking a long sip to drown out some of the screaming inside of his head. He’s been here thirty seconds, and already he’s made a fool of himself. “So, do you come here a lot?”

“All the time,” Harry says, not seeming to mind the abrupt change of conversation. “It’s one of my favorite places. Best sushi in London.”

“Right,” Louis says, reaching for the menu and glancing through it. “What do you recommend?”

“Depends on what kind of sushi you like,” Harry says. “Everything is really good, though. I like to try different things every time I come, but I’m pretty sure I’ve tried everything here,” he says.

“Great,” Louis says, eyes sweeping over all the options on the menu. He hasn’t a clue what any of them mean, or what the difference between them is, or how anyone could enjoy any of the things he’s looking at.

Harry keeps the conversation going, but Louis can’t really focus over the roaring in his ears. He’s making a terrible first impression, but he doesn’t know what to do. The first and only time he ever tried sushi was with his sister Lottie the first time they visited London together; she loved it, Louis puked in the bathroom and then made Lottie buy him a milkshake. Harry’s telling a story, Louis thinks, or maybe he’s explaining something, but Louis doesn’t tune back in until a waiter approaches the table.

“Are you ready to order, Louis?” Harry asks, like Louis isn’t still just staring blankly at the menu in his hands.

“Yeah,” Louis says, closing the menu and putting it down on the table. “You go first.”

Harry gives him a little smile and then turns to the waiter, pointing out a few things on the menu and then turning back to Louis. God, Louis thinks, Harry really is beautiful, and he’s so sweet and charming and kind. It’s such a shame Louis is going to have to block him and never think about this night ever again once it’s over.

“I’ll have the same, please,” Louis says, handing over his own menu. He hasn’t a single clue what Harry ordered, but he figures he can just choke down whatever gets delivered to him and then forget any of this ever happened.

The waiter walks away, and Louis turns back to a grinning Harry. “Excellent taste,” Harry says.

“I know,” Louis says, eyes sweeping over Harry’s face and down his chest. “You look amazing, by the way,” he hums. Harry’s in a sheer, white blouse with swirly black flowers and a big, droopy bow on the front. His hair is loose and curly and looks so soft Louis wants to reach out and play with it, maybe tug a little so that he might get to see those gorgeous green eyes roll a little with pleasure.

“Thank you,” Harry blushes a little. “So do you, you know. I love a man in all black,” he admits.

Louis hums, quite pleased he managed to escape his flat without Shawn’s turquoise blazer. He can’t wait to shove it in Niall’s face that Harry liked his outfit, even if the rest of the date happens to be a disaster.

“So,” Harry says, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands. “What’s your idea of a perfect evening? This is mine, if I’m honest, eating sushi with a cute boy, and maybe when we’re done here we can take a walk through the city?” he says.

“Sounds lovely,” Louis says, carefully ignoring the twist in his stomach that tells him Harry’s idea of a perfect evening is probably going to end with Louis on his knees in the toilets, and not in the good way. “I think my perfect evening is take away on the sofa, beer and some really cheesy romance movies. Or maybe a party, and there’s a million people everywhere and it’s so loud and exciting but you’re with someone who makes it feel like you’re the only two people in the whole world,” he says.

Harry looks enamoured, blinking slowly while Louis talks. Louis almost forgets his circumstance, almost reaches across the table to grab Harry by his big stupid bow and kiss him, but before either of them can react the waiter returns with two massive plates of sushi, setting them down on the table between them.

Louis very narrowly manages not to gag, leaning away a fraction of an inch from the overpowering smell of fish and seaweed. It smells spicy, as well, which is absolutely not a good combination, and Louis’s right back to panicking again.

“Cheers,” Harry smiles at him, picking up his pair of chopsticks and digging in. He looks beautiful even shoving a lump of raw fish and rice into his mouth, though Louis thinks he can maybe do without kissing him now.

Louis fumbles his chopsticks a little, trying to mimic the way Harry is holding them, and manages to grasp a small bite of what looks like noodles from the edge of the plate. He likes noodles, he can do noodles, and maybe he can avoid touching anything fishy altogether and if Harry asks any questions, he can just say he isn’t very hungry.

He shoves the noodles into his mouth before he can drop his chopsticks, chewing slowly while he adjusts his grip. It occurs to him slowly that what he just put in his mouth isn’t noodles at all, but something fishy, as well, like shredded crab or lobster or something.

He chokes it down and suppresses a whimper, grabbing another bite and shoving it in his mouth just to get it over with. It’s spicy, burns on the way down, makes his eyes water a little.

“Do you like it?” Harry asks, dipping one of his sushi rolls in some kind of sauce that came with the plate. 

“Mhm,” Louis hums, too afraid to open his mouth lest he spit everything out.

He lets Harry handle the talking again, does his best to listen while strategically eating around everything that could possibly be fish. Eventually he gets to a point where he can’t avoid it anymore, and Harry’s starting to look at him funny, so he haphazardly picks up one of the sushi rolls on his plate and bites into it.

The texture of it triggers his gag reflex instantly, but he thinks he does a pretty good job of hiding it. He counts to ten while he chews and then forces himself to swallow, taking a few deep breaths as the sushi slides down his throat. He’s going to vomit, he’s definitely going to fucking vomit, and he does _not_ want to do it in front of Harry.

He waits a few minutes, lets Harry finish whatever story he’s telling about his sister, and then smiles politely. “I’m going to go use the men’s room,” he says, slipping out of his seat and walking calmly to the toilets before Harry can say anything else. 

He locks himself in a stall and pulls out his phone, hurriedly bringing up Niall’s contact. He rests his head against the cool metal wall of the stall and breathes deep while the phone rings, praying that Niall answers quickly.

“Lou,” Niall’s voice says after only two rings. Louis’s never been so relieved to hear him speak. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I need you to come save me,” Louis says lowly, talking with his mouth mostly shut so he won’t puke. “I’m at a Japanese restaurant in West London and I’m going to die.”

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks again, but there’s shuffling in the background like he’s actually getting up to come rescue him. “Is the guy crazy?”

“He’s making me eat sushi,” Louis breathes, his stomach turning again. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Shit, okay, text me the address and I’ll try to be there as soon as I-”

Louis hangs up on him when the toilet door swings open, footsteps echoing through the room as someone comes inside. Louis holds his breath and prays that it isn’t Harry, prays that this terrible night isn’t about to get worse.

“Louis?” Shit.

Louis swallows hard and straightens up, wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt and shaking the tremors out of his hands before he opens up the stall door. He forces a smile as he steps out, finding Harry looking worried by the sinks.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft and calm, even though he’s sure he’s going to be sick in a matter of seconds.

“Hey, are you alright? You looked a little ill when you left, I just wanted to come check on you,” Harry says, taking one unsure step in Louis’s direction.

“All good,” Louis lies, making himself keep smiling. 

“Are you sure?” Harry frowns, eyes sweeping over Louis’s face. “You’re a bit pale. Should I take you home?”

“No, no, I’m good,” Louis keeps lying. He should fucking smarten up, he thinks, tell Harry he thinks he’s coming down with something, maybe salvage whatever tiny bit of respect Harry still has for him. God fucking dammit, Louis’s going to delete the Tinder app so fucking hard when he gets home.

“Okay,” Harry says, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe we should get out of here anyway? Go take a walk and get some fresh air?”

Louis just nods, forcing himself to keep smiling even though he can feel sick rising in his throat. Harry takes another step forward and Louis tries to step back, but he slips on a wet patch on the tile floor and loses his footing. Harry lunges to keep him from falling and Louis, in what might possibly be his lowest moment _ever_ , collapses into his chest and vomits all over his pretty blouse.

“Oh, Louis,” Harry coos, holding him and rubbing his back gently, like he’s not worried about the sick dripping down his front. Louis cannot believe he’s still here, that he hasn’t just disintegrated into the floor like he’s trying so desperately to do.

“Fuck,” Louis says, picking himself up and wiping quickly at his mouth. “Fuck, oh my _god_ , I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, glancing down at his shirt. It all seems to sink in, then, and he looks a little disgusted, but like he’s too nice to let Louis see how truly disgusted he is. Louis wants to cry.

“Here, let me,” Louis mutters, grabbing some paper towels and wiping at Harry’s shirt. Harry lets him, and Louis wipes away what he can, but there’s still a massive wet stain on the front of Harry’s blouse that no amount of rubbing will remove.

“It’s fine, really,” Harry says, chuckling a little at Louis’s frantic wiping. “Lou, it’s okay.”

“Oh my god,” Louis breathes, turning to throw the paper towels away and hiding his face in his hands. This is going to go down in history as the worst first date that anyone has ever had, he’s sure of it. He didn’t think it was possible for a night to go so horribly wrong, and to make things even worse, he still feels like he’s going to be sick again.

“Let me take you home,” Harry says, touching Louis’s shoulder gently. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

Louis just nods, doesn’t know what else to do. He feels like his brain is shutting down on him, like he’s made enough bad decisions tonight, his brain is going into autopilot until he gets home.

Harry leaves him in the toilets for a moment, presumably to go pay the bill, and Louis ducks back into a stall to throw up whatever else is still trying to get out. Harry comes back just as Louis is rinsing his mouth out at the sink, but Louis doesn’t even have the capacity to feel embarrassed; he thinks he may have hit his threshold.

He gives Harry his address so Harry can call an Uber, and then he lets Harry lead him outside to wait for it. Harry keeps a firm but careful hold him, like Louis can’t even walk on his own, but Louis’s quite thankful for it since his brain seems dead set on staying blank and vacant.

Harry helps him into the car when it arrives and keeps rubbing his arm the whole way back to his flat, and Louis doesn’t really feel very ill anymore, but he likes the comfort, likes that Harry hasn’t run away screaming yet.

It only takes a few minutes to get home, and Harry insists on coming up and making sure Louis is alright before he leaves. Louis thinks distantly that he needs to text Niall and tell him that everything’s fine, but he completely forgets once he gets his door open and sees the state of his flat as Harry steps into it.

Niall was right when he said that this place is a mess. It’s not dirty, not really, just messy, clothes and shoes and dishes strewn all around. Harry doesn’t really seem to mind it, but then again, Louis just fucking vomited on him in a public toilet and he didn’t really seem to mind that, either, so maybe Harry’s just a really bad judge of what’s gross and what isn’t.

“Here, I’ll give you a shirt to change into,” Louis says, shuffling to his wardrobe and pulling out a clean t-shirt. “The toilet is just there.”

Harry smiles at him softly and steps into the bathroom to change, while Louis throws himself down on his bed and covers his face with his arm. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Harry will just quietly let himself out and Louis won’t have to deal with the awkward goodbye.

A few moments later, though, Harry steps out of the toilet in Louis’s t-shirt and settles down on the edge of the bed next to Louis’s lap. Louis wonders how many chances Harry’s going to give him to keep embarrassing himself before he just gives up, hopes he’s nearly finished.

“Do you need anything?” Harry asks, his voice quiet and gentle. Louis wants to keep him, holy hell does he want to keep him. “Water? A bucket?”

Louis chuckles, dropping his arm and shaking his head. “A complete do-over?” he jokes, peeking up at Harry.

Harry smiles, nudging Louis’s knee with his own. “Okay.”

Louis blinks, frowning and sitting up. “Wait, what?”

“Okay,” Harry says again, shrugging one shoulder. “I feel so bad about all of this. I should have at least asked if you liked sushi first before I took you to a bloody sushi restaurant, right? Who even goes for sushi on the first date, anyway? I’m just- I’m really sorry, and if you’d be willing to give me another chance, I’d love to make it up to you.”

Louis feels like he’s dreaming, like something isn’t quite right here. Is Harry serious?

“Are you serious?” he asks, stunned. “Harry, I just made an absolute fool of myself, lied about liking sushi and then _threw up on you_ , and you think _you_ need to make it up to _me_?”

“It’s not your fault you don’t like sushi,” Harry argues. “Or, y’know, really, _really_ hate sushi. It was a stupid idea for a date, anyway, so, yeah, I want to make it up to you.”

“Oh my god,” Louis breathes, rubbing at his face. “Are you really asking for a second date?”

Harry’s face falls, his cheeks going red instantly. “Oh,” he says, getting up off the bed and pinching at his bottom lip. “Well, I- shit, okay, sorry,” he mumbles, turning on his heel and marching toward the door.

“Wait!” Louis shouts, launching himself off the bed and running to stop him. “No, no that’s not what I meant,” he says, laughing softly. “I just- I can’t believe you want to go out with me again after all of this.”

Harry goes soft, smiling at Louis for a long moment. “I do. I really do. So? Can we try this again next weekend? Maybe we can just go to a pub, or something, instead,” he suggests. 

“That sounds absolutely lovely,” Louis grins. “I’m so happy that I didn’t ruin this.”

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asks quickly, like his mouth didn’t quite get permission from his brain first. Louis blinks and Harry frowns, shaking his head. “I didn’t think that through.”

“Maybe next time,” Louis chuckles, going in for a hug instead. “You know, after I’ve brushed my teeth, and everything.”

“Perfect,” Harry says, pecking Louis’s cheek quickly as he pulls away. “Let’s hope we both can get our shit together and be a little less awkward before next weekend, hm?”

“Fingers crossed,” Louis says, his heart fluttering when Harry smiles at him. 

He leads Harry to the door, lets Harry kiss his cheek one more time, and Harry promises to text him when he gets home, and then he’s gone. Louis leans back against the door and smiles up at the ceiling for a long, blissful moment, before he becomes aware of his phone buzzing in his pocket.

He digs it out and answers it without looking, still smiling like a lovesick fool. “Hello?”

“Louis, Christ,” Niall says. Louis suddenly remembers that he never texted Niall to let him know he was home. “Are you alright? What the hell happened?”

“Niall, I have so much to tell you,” Louis chuckles, shuffling back across his flat and falling into bed.

“Last I heard you were hiding from the guy and throwing up in the toilets,” Niall says, sounding skeptical. “Why do you sound so happy right now?”

“I think I’m in love, Niall,” Louis sighs wistfully.

“You’re what? Who are you and what have you done with Louis?”

“Niall, I threw up on him on the first date and he still asked me out for next weekend,” Louis says. “I have to marry him.”

“You’re giving me a headache,” Niall mutters. Louis can practically hear him rubbing his temple like an old man. “I have to go.”

Niall promptly hangs up on him, but Louis doesn’t stop smiling as he wriggles out of his clothes and tucks himself into bed.

His stomach is still a bit funny and he’ll wake up wishing he had a proper dinner before falling asleep, but he spends the rest of the night tucked up in bed texting Harry, anyway. He thinks this feels like the beginning of a forever type of thing, and if he has Niall to thank for that, well, he supposes he can deal with that.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked the fic, you can reblog it [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/173603453518/it-aint-right-but-isnt-it-amazing-by-suspendrs)
> 
> [faq](http://suspendrs-fics.tumblr.com/faq)


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